


Lessons of Love Untaught

by kittycats



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Aged-Up Gon Freecs/Killua Zoldyck, Anal Fingering, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Misunderstandings, Oral Sex, Praise Kink, Smut, they're in their 20s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:55:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23196643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittycats/pseuds/kittycats
Summary: Gon thinks he might be afraid of commitment.Meanwhile, Killua gets his prostate milked.
Relationships: Gon Freecs & Killua Zoldyck, Gon Freecs/Killua Zoldyck
Comments: 58
Kudos: 344
Collections: Sin x Bin





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in 2 hours because being quarantined has me with NOTHING TO DO!!!!
> 
> Anyway, I like the idea that Killua's quiet during intimacy. That's entirely the inspiration for this. Also because I wanted more bottom!Killua. I'm hungry. Starving. Famished!!

_Killua is quiet,_ Gon noticed, _observed,_ the epiphany of the thought clenching around his heart with a tugging force, _quiet and gentle_ . In the still moments of the night, he likes to be held close, so, _so_ close, until their chests are crushed together and their heartbeats sync. He’ll wrap his arms around Gon’s shoulders and rest his head on the junction of his neck, let his lips rest against the pulse point, and smile against the gentle thrum of his heart beating. He likes to be held, treated as something precious, though he’ll never admit to it. He’ll pretend to be to be sleepy, unassuming, as Gon slowly pulls him into his lap. He likes the comfort of how their breaths mingle and their noses just barely touch.

In the early mornings, Gon will notice their hands interlocked, no matter what position he wakes in. More often than not, he’ll find them linked over his own chest, and he has no doubt that Killua slid them together somewhere in the night. His thumb will linger on the vein on Gon’s wrist, and Gon knows it’s to feel the steady pulse of his heart beating, to find solace in the fact that he’s not deteriorating like in so many of his nightmares.

Gon doesn’t mind these nights; he looks forward to them. He likes slowly unwrapping all of what makes his Killua, uncovering the ways he truly wants to be loved. It’s captivating, and somber, knowing that he’ll never voice these desires outwardly.   
There’s a lot of hidden fears in Killua’s mind, he’s discovered, and has taken to uncovering them one by one. There are things that haunt him still, after years that felt like an era. He wants to mend flowers in those old wounds, but is never surprised when they wilt and the petals drop. There are only so many roses he can stitch in before he falls short; but it’s better to let things progress naturally than to force them away with new memories and sweet kisses.

Rarely, Killua will initiate contact, he can count the number on both hands of the times he has taken initiative. But he does, depending on the light of day _(or if Mercury’s in retrograde)_ – and Gon is an eager participant regardless. He’ll feel his hand grabbed in their kitchenette late in the evening, the sun drowning every color in their studio apartment in shadows of blacks and washed-out oranges, and lead them both in a waltz, flushed face hidden, with only the dishwasher to provide ambience. 

He knows Killua’s a secret romantic, his heart _so_ soft and _so_ shy. On good nights, he’ll dream of sweet things, like marriage and family. He’ll sign his name as Killua Freecs, both to hide from his family, and because he _wants_ to, and hide his flushed smile behind thin fingers.   
His eyes light up when Gon dresses nicely for formal events, in hazardly bought suits and button-ups. It’s one of the rare occasions Killua will take the lead, slide their palms together, and pull them close.

Like a waltz, their relationship has a lead and a follow. And like a waltz, Killua will follow Gon. To the ends of the earth, and further beyond. His home is wherever Gon is, and Gon knows this.

Maybe he’s taken advantage of how deep Killua’s adoration goes. He’s known about it for so long, maybe even while Killua was coming to terms with it himself. 

He knows in those serene moments that Killua dreams of domesticity, of marriage and normalcy, as they sway together in the comfortable darkness of the kitchenette.  
If he could crawl inside Killua’s head, he thinks he’d see a longing desire for a different life. To grow up as a regular kid alongside Gon. He’d keep a journal filled with his name surrounded by hearts, a child with a crush, and pages upon pages of their names blended together in every imaginable combination.

He’s not ready for marriage, doesn’t think of it much unlike Killua. He might one day, when he’s older and ready to settle down, but he doesn’t see that day forthcoming anytime soon. But he knows it’s what Killua wants, what he dreams of on good nights, so he’ll indulge him. He’ll kiss the ring finger of his left hand as an unsaid promise, and watch in not-so-hidden glee as Killua _melts_. It’s moments like those that he knows how mendable Killua can be in his hands.

Sometimes he wonders if Killua would be happier elsewhere, with someone else who shares his dreams and ambitions, with someone who can sweep him off his feet and grant every one of his dreams that Gon can’t yet. The thought makes his stomach twist and curl, because he knows he’ll selfishly keep Killua by his side for as long as he can.

Perhaps in another world, in another time, Killua has a ring on his finger. But when the thought crosses his mind, he can’t be sure it’s from him. He’s too afraid of being like his dad to be able to commit to things like engagement so soon. Too soon.

But during their nights pressed together, unable to tell where one ends and the other begins, he doesn’t think he can spend so much of his life with anyone else.

Even still, he wonders what it means to be _in_ love, the way Killua is. He’d die for Killua, he knows that for certain; but he would for anyone he cares about. He’s not afraid of death, but he’s in no hurry to die. There’s a physical side of their relationship he wouldn’t want to do with anyone else, sex and intimacy, but sometimes for him it’s just a way to get off.

When he finds himself pushing Killua down onto soft blankets, as he too often does, Killua lets him; despite having the strength to flip them around. He’ll let his hands loop around to the back of Gon’s neck, and gently tug him down for a slow, loving kiss. 

It’s their own version of the waltz.

He’ll indulge in Gon’s roughness some nights, scratching red ribbons down his back like a lace-up corset and biting where his neck and shoulder meets, but on other nights Gon will focus on what _Killua_ wants. He’ll pull him close and kiss his eyelids when they flutter shut, kiss his lips when he restarts his breathing, run his hands up and down his sides when he feels his legs tighten and spasm around his hips, and gently bring Killua into his lap. It’s his favorite position, he’s learned, and he’ll let Gon’s hand sweep down his back and bring them together, and start to lose coherency of where one of them ends and the other begins.

Killua’s silence during sex is second nature to him. Trained and habitual. Like his footsteps, his breathing is silent, and Gon notices how he tilts his head back, lets his eyes shut, and recapitulates his breathing to keep from gasping.

But Gon likes a challenge.

It takes a while, gently coaxing him with praise and kisses, until the first audible gasp leaves Killua’s mouth. He’ll slide his hands down his waist, let his hands rest on the small of his back, and lean down to press a deep, gentle kiss to his lips. He’s eager to reciprocate, letting his hands cradle Gon’s face and pressing close, and lets himself enjoy their benign and placid lovemaking.

Until Gon pulls his hips back, sucks in Killua’s breath, and gives a sharp, _deep_ penetrating thrust; it’s then that the dam that is Killua’s silence springs a leak, and it becomes easier to coax breathy sounds out of his mouth.

Getting him to moan is another challenge in and of itself, one that he’s still figuring out. It’s less about forcing a noise out through abrupt pleasure than it is letting it accumulate through Killua’s own contentment. He first managed it through fumbling, with two fingers inside the other and gently rubbing the inner walls against his prostate. It took some time, but first he was awarded the first good sign– an audible sigh, stretching his arms back behind him, and adjusting his hips on the pillow. He imagines Killua feels the way a cat laying out in the sun looks. Satisfied. Fulfilled. In this state he’s droopy and ragdoll-like. If Gon really wanted to, he could mend Killua in different ways, molding his pliant body like unbaked clay. He wonders if humans could purr.

It takes a minute, a century, a millennium, and finally an eon when the first hum sighs from his throat. His eyes flutter shut and his back arching just the smallest bit. Gon wonders if he can make it bend like a bow, like a bridge, and briefly in those moments he can find a passion for architecture. Killua tilts his head back and takes in a stuttering breath before biting his lip, and Gon’s newfound fascination for building an arching structure out of Killua’s body is taken away. He has a task at hand.

His fingers are persistent and unforgiving, dirty and quick, continuously rubbing against a small bundle of nerves about two knuckles in. Gon’s fingers are short and thick, his palms meaty and large, and when they touch him– he’s sure Killua can feel every callous. He watches in small, smug delight when a heavy breath leaves his lips when he drags the pads of his fingers heavily against his prostate. His cock is drooling onto his stomach, and he makes a notion to ignore it. Killua’s hands squeeze the pillow behind him, and whines.

If Gon were focused on his own pleasure, he’d have come twice by now, refractory period included. He finds himself slightly frustrated at Killua’s endurance, knows it’s not fair to feel that way, that Killua just has a higher tolerance threshold for both pain and pleasure, but Gon is an impatient, selfish creature by nature, and goes against his desire to quicken his pace and snake a hand to Killua’s front to speed up the process. He’s made it his mission to get Killua to moan. To find what combination of tactics and tricks to achieve that.

Killua likes praise, he likes to _be_ praised, he likes to be told he’s so good, _so wonderful!–_ at any task, not just sex. His cheeks will flush and his eyes will grow wide until Gon swears he can count every single shade of blue ever discovered in one iris alone. He’ll fight and sputter, dodge and reflect it back. So Gon will keep going until it sinks in, and Killua will stop arguing and hide his red _red_ face behind slim, sharp fingers and squeezed-shut eyes.

_“My Killua is so, so pretty. Killua is so amazing,”_ he’ll say, and watch with slight mirth as he predictably falters on finding perch in his contention against Gon’s words. He chooses not to voice the noticeable hitch in Killua’s breath.

He recalls once asking if Killua _really really_ liked being praised.

He left the room with a red, itchy sore patch of skin on his forehead.

While he knows Killua’s response to genuine compliments is a nurtured, gut-reaction, one that built up over years of psycological abuse and torture, something to be soothed out to commend Killua and remind him he is _worthy_ of love; a part of him finds genuine happiness and enjoyment out of eliciting such pleasurable reactions out of his partner out of his small words and gestures alone. He’ll coo and kiss along the side of Killua’s face, press down on his chest, and jerk his finger up in a sharp thrust. Right into the spot he’s been acquaintanced with for the past half-hour.

Until finally, _finally,_ Killua gives a small moan. It’s slight, almost inaudible, and Gon has to strain to hear it; but it’s there, and it’s a victory nonetheless. It’s not a mind-blowing experience by any means, but it’s a start of Gon figuring out what strings to pluck in order to play marianette. 

Killua always has small tears in his eyes when he reaches climax, quickly wiped away by either himself to hide them, or Gon wanting to take part in some sort of aftercare. This time is no different, and Gon pulls out his fingers so he can wipe the other’s tears away, only to have them smacked to the side light-heartedly.

_“Idiot, that’s how you get pink-eye,”_

Killua’s voice is thick and airy, high and congested, small and loud, so many opposites balled into one just like he is. It’s full of playfulness for a tone that’s indicative of being post-coital. He wipes his own eyes, gives a small sniff, and reaches for Gon’s other hand. He’ll say, _“c’mere,”_ in a slow and dazed voice, and it’s Gon’s turn to bat away a hand trying to reach down his front. He’ll shake his head, and smile.

_“Tonight was about Killua,”_ He says, and grabs the hand he just shook off, the left one, and kisses the knuckle on his fourth finger, the one that always makes him both freeze and melt, and give a small, giddy smile. _Maybe,_ he thinks, _one day._ But that day doesn’t have to be anytime soon. They could be old and grey by the time Gon thinks he might be ready to settle down. He could have Killua waiting on his toes for that day forever. His conscience is once again brought into the thought of him being unable to give Killua something he truly, deeply desires. But Killua won’t voice them. Killua won’t say what he wants, and an unspoken promise isn’t really a promise at all, is it?

An unspoken promise isn’t an incentive for a future, in Gon’s mind. After all, it’s just a kind, sweet gesture that he noticed Killua react positively to. It’s not a lie at all.

Killua may not say what he wants, but it’s painted and etched deep into his skin, and drawn on every subtle and not-so-subtle thing he does. It’s cute. It’s annoying. It brings uncomfortable thoughts boiling into his head until his stomach feels like it’s made of lead, hot and flaking with freezer-burn. A contradiction of wants. He wants this but doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want this but wants to.

So for now, he’ll let him have his unvoiced fantasy. Let him daydream and lose himself in the possibility, and kiss his concerns away.

He loves Killua, but doesn’t know what it means to be _in_ love, the way Killua is. But he supposes that’s how their own waltz is danced. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> me, at 2 am: haha what if killua had rejection sensitive dysphoria?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dedicated to siberiantigers whose comment inspired me to want to make another chapter! they really needed 2 talk.  
> i was super sleepy while writing this, it's 5 am now. i started at 2 am. zoom!!!
> 
> anyway i tried to get into a killua writing mood by making hot chocolate and listening to kidz bop 38. i hope the latter isn't too obvious.
> 
> thank you for all your comments! please enjoy, and i'll probably edit this or beta it tomorrow when i'm not SLEEPY ARGGHH!!

The hollowness in his bones surged and coiled, racing to his chest and clamping his heart in a tight chain gridlock. Electricity surged behind his eyes and under his brain, burning his nose and unfurling the hot burning coldness of the dread sinking in his gut, pooling lower until dropping from his insides with a sickening, lead-heavy lurch. He knows from the falter in Gon’s demeanor, the fumble in his words, and the pity in his eyes that it’s over. It’s done. Finished. Had he kept his mouth shut, kept his dreams close and private, this wouldn’t be happening. This  _ shouldn’t _ be happening. This–

“Marriage? Killua,” He says, his voice soft and missing his usual cheerful bravado. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes, and Killua had to blink away from his thoughts to even notice that detail, “Killua I don’t think...” His words trail off.

“I  _ get _ it.” He snapped back, already having turned his back to Gon. He can handle being rejected, he can take it like an adult; but the angry fire and boiling blood simmering under his veins won’t let him. He knows the hurt of physical pain, has come to expect it with most things. The pinpricks of pain under his nose are no stranger to Killua when he cries. He could handle his family snuffing cigarettes on his thighs, sending volts of electricity through his chest, and breaking his fingers and reshaping bones over and over again throughout adolescence. He knows this. It’s his field of expertise.

“What I  _ don’t _ get,” Ragged, angry tufts of breath huff out through his nose when he finally turned back to face the other, in all his snot and tears and glory, “Is why you thought it was a good idea to lead me on for so long.” He hissed, flexing his fingers and eyes into catlike daggers. His teeth were bared, ambitions ripped away. Gon doesn’t flinch. He would never lay a finger on Gon in anger, still won’t, his love blossoms and burns for him at the bottom of his patched and stitched heart. But he’s  _ hurting _ , he’s hurting in a way that he’s new at experiencing, and his instincts were going wild while he tried to find his footing on this new territory.

He continued, “If you wanted to leave so badly, you could have told me in the beginning. You could have packed up and skipped town in the middle of the night. Anything but this.”  _ Anything but this. _ He’s burning, shame and grief wash over him like waves. He’s drowning in congealed sorrow and thick tears, threatening to flood cities and townships with every new breath. Everything is broken but his body is unhurt. Everything hurts but his bones are unbroken.

Gon will leave him. Gon  _ wants _ to leave him. It’s all clear, and it’s  _ been _ clear from the beginning, but Killua had been blind, walked around the dark recesses of his heart with nothing but Gon’s  _ name. _ Gon’s  _ body. _ Gon’s being, existence, self. Gon, Gon,  _ Gon. _ His lower lip trembled.

He blinks, slowly, without hesitance, and lets his eyes open just as languidly. His pupils dilate back to their normal size, coming into conscious with crystal clarity as the tactical side of his brain takes front. The silence of the room is deafeningly loud with nothing but their breaths, and electric currents buzzing and whirring alive underneath the ground frame of their apartment. He speaks. “Gon, I  _ love _ you. I love you, and all I ever did was love you,”

Gon slowly reaches out with a hand like one would to a wild animal, and it takes him a minute to notice that his upper lip is still curled up in a snarl. He’s feral, scared, backed up in a cage in a strange room, and Gon is treating him like a small stray cat he picked up and brought home. When Killua makes no move to lunge at the offending hand, simply staring at him instead, he sets it on his shoulder and slowly brings him closer. They stand toe to toe, nose to nose. They stand at similar heights, never having bothered to check as the years went on, but Gon is wider, larger in frame and muscles. His shoulders encapsulate Killua’s width twice alone, and It’s enough to make Killua feel frail and dainty; despite both of them knowing that he overpower him in an instant. Gon speaks.

“That’s not what I said,” the small, pitying smile comes back, and all Killua can do is wait with bated breath as Gon continues to reject him. His brain is working in overdrive to think of every possible escape route to leave this building as fast as possible, change his identity, and never look back on his part of his life ever again. His attention snaps back when Gon gives a small laugh, “I want to be with Killua forever! Forever and longer, but you don’t have to be married to do that. I don’t think I’m ready for that,” He smiles and tilts his head, his eyes squeezing to happy half-semi circles, his grin genuine. “But I  _ do _ love Killua.”

Oh.

“Oh,” He breathes, his thoughts going blank in the same fashion they always do when around Gon. “Oh,” He says again, resting his tongue on the roof of his mouth with a small click, and testing the shape of his lips, _“Oh.”_ He says a third time, clarity finally finding him and bringing him back into his body from where he was floating yards above in freezing and molten cold-hot delirium. _Oh,_ his brain says. “Then why…?”

Gon has the sense to look bashful, ashamed,  _ embarrassed _ , when he answers. He ducks his head and averts his eyes, a small pink flush on his tan freckled cheeks that burned to the corner of his ears. “Because I know it’s something you think about a lot, and I always want to make you happy,” he says, then, “And Killua always looked so pretty after I kissed his knuckles.” He adds sheepishly, blatantly.  _ Unabashedly. _ Killua scoffs and avoids his eyes.

His emotions feel contradictory, his nose runny, and his eyes wet. His voice feels too high in his throat, strained and weak, and when he clears his throat to bring it lower, all it does is cause mucus to be at the forefront of his face and make him feel stuffy. His face is patchy and red, burning from his nose to his ears, and he probably looks like a complete mess, but still Gon has the gall to call him  _ pretty. _ His hand reaches upward to cradle Killua’s face, and brings the other to wipe his eyes, all while Killua averts them.

“I’m not leaving you,” He coos, his smile as gentle as his words, “And if  _ you _ leave, I’d follow you. Until you cut off both my legs, and then my arms, so I can’t crawl after you.” That gets a small laugh from Killua, letting his forehead drop to Gon’s shoulder and allowing himself to be pulled in a loose embrace. It’s comfortable, he thinks, like his body was meant to mold right into Gon’s arms. Like it was always supposed to be there. He sniffs again, getting the last of the snot threatening to drip down his nose out of his throat, and feeling the tightness in his chest go slack.

“Just don’t be an idiot about it next time,” He shuts his eyes, leaning forward and putting his weight on the other’s chest, further and further, until Gon has to somewhat pick him up before they topple to the hardwood floor of their apartment. His feet stay on the ground. “I’m still mad at you, you know? You deliberately let me believe you wanted to marry me. Say something next time, asshole.”

Gon’s hand brushes through his curls, white and tangled, swept to the side in a sloppy bedhead, but still he adores him. He hums in acknowledgement, then to a tune, and lets Killua’s body fully crumple into his arms so he can properly lift him up. Killua continues speaking, his voice now slightly muffled as Gon carries him, presumably to their bed, “... Does this mean I have to stop signing my last name as yours?” 

“No,” His rebuttal was quick, sharp, barked up from the depths of his gut like a sudden lash.  _ “No, _ no of course not, I like it. I like that Killua sees himself as mine. It makes me feel…” He struggles for a word, his jaw working in conjunction with his brain, moving while nothing comes out, “It makes me feel… Good. Strong. I like it,” He nods, like the words crafted from his brain were a sonnet, and not at all an awkward fumble for reassurance, but even still they make Killua’s heart do somersaults in summer gardens, “I like it.”

He wants to laugh, pinch him, kiss him, tug on his ears, his dick, and flick a sharp finger against his forehead all the same, and all the same he’s  _ selfish _ and  _ possessive _ and  _ stupid. _ All the same he’s the man he loves. He opts to do two of the above and grabs Gon by his ears, forcing his head towards him so their lips can briefly meet.

He relishes in Gon’s smile when they part, so bright and blinding, but he can’t bring himself to turn away any more. He brings a finger up to his chin to ensure he doesn’t turn away, and wipes a faded wet streak on his cheek.

“No more tears, alright?” and Killua  _ has _ to roll his eyes.

“You make it sound like I’m a crybaby,”

“You aren’t?”

This has him tackling Gon onto the bed with a sharp smile and slanted eyes, rolling on top of him and easily overpowering him with superior strength and battle tactics. He’s not in a mood to let Gon get what he wants easily, tonight  _ he’ll _ be the selfish one. Gon doesn’t struggle in his hold, he won’t let him anyway, and pins down both thick, brown and muscular arms with a single pale punctilious hand. He straddles his lap, and leans over him, aura flaring though he knows Gon can’t sense it anymore. 

Killua doesn’t enjoy being held down, made to feel like he can’t escape or find an opening, and Gon was quick to learn this after several attempts to pin Killua against almost every surface in their apartment. Each time earned him a sharp lash, and a fussy hiss to  _ not _ do that. Gon is used to domineering, riding roughside over unknown ideals of others and barging in unannounced with good intention. He’s as selfish as he is kind, but so thick in the head and arrogant that it takes tides and pulls to curb over his stubbornness until the wants of others start to sink in. He loves him so much that his chest goes taut in warmth.

“I’ll show  _ you _ crybaby,” Killua mocks, slicing a claw from his free hand down the front of his pajama shirt. He ignores Gon’s small cry of retortion, muttering in response that the shirt had holes in it and  _ had to go anyway.  _

He lets himself enjoy the unaltered of his broad chest, small scars littering the expanse of his abdomen where strong muscles lie. He licks his lips, suddenly dry, and lets go of Gon’s wrists to sit up properly. He restrains a small huff of indignation and umbrage when he notices the other flexing, and instead opts to roll his eyes at his show. Gon knows he likes his muscles, likes them in general, knowing the power other men held showcased in their body alone, that forms and coaligns the shape of strength itself. It was intoxicating, knowing his boyfriend had so much of it. He likes his men strong, and even better–  _ stupid. _

Of course, said stupid can’t keep his mouth shut for long.

“Like what you see,  _ Kil-lu-aa?” _ He sings, every note in his name said with such indescribable affection that he can’t take it, and shoves a hand to his mouth.

“I was, until your dumb mouth had to ruin it. Maybe I should put a paper bag over your head,” He banters, sliding down until he’s sitting flush against his cock, already starting to perk with interest, and gently riding it through their clothes. Gon sighs and rests his head back onto the pillow, silting his hips up and gripping onto Killua’s thighs like a vice, until they’re batted away, and the beginning of his complaint is hushed with a sharp grind downwards, almost painful in its agonizing pang of pleasure shooting electricity up his spine and down his skin.

“Nope, you don’t get to touch me,” Killua all but  _ snears, _ he’s being mean, bratty, and maybe even a little resentful, but he doesn’t care, and Gon doesn’t mind, “You hurt my feelings, so  _ I _ get to do what  _ I _ want. And what I  _ don’t _ want is your hands on me right now.” This time when his teeth are bared, it’s not out of fear, but playful ferocity. His grin is menacing, and his eyes are slits of deep blue zeroed in on his prey, ready to pounce. He gives another abrupt thrust upwards, smiling in contempt at how Gon’s dick must be rubbing irritably against the poor quality of cheap pajama pants fabric, settled uncomfortably under Killua’s backside. He can feel the heat radiating below him, and just knows the other is commando.

Gon gives an uncomfortable grasp, squirming and trying to worm his lower half in a different position, but Killua’s thighs lock him where he is, and he gleams a cruel, vicious smile down on him. He whines, but Killua hushes him, and slides down, finally giving him relief from the restraints.

He slides down, down down  _ down _ , until his chin is nestled on Gon’s thigh as he peels the cotton fabric down, and watches his cock spring up in tow. It’s thick and average, darker than the rest of him, and curved to the left, but Killua considers the last part to be a cute quirk. It’s nestled in dark, spiry hair that starts at his chest, lines to his navel, and spreads out to his balls and buttock. He’s hairy, manly, and while Killua can love the aesthetic, he hates how it feels against his skin. One of these days he’ll wax him, and find deep, twisted enjoyment in the way Gon squirms under his administrations.

He may like to be spoiled, treated gently and lovingly; but when Killua got a mean streak, he was vicious and sadistic.

But right now, he’ll be nice, and show Gon that he’s damn good husband material. So he rests the pad of his thumb against the tip, the foreskin curled back to reveal reddish-brown glans, and presses down. Gon  _ keens, _ and he kisses the tip apologetically, and grips the base right above his balls.

It’s almost endearing, albeit a little frustrating, how quick he is to come sometimes. He can go several rounds without a long stretch of wait, but Killua always finds himself a little restless between the short waiting periods. He’ll make this one last, since he’ll only let him come once.

These things always make his jaw ache, anyway. He doesn’t care to prolong that for too long.

Killua gives a slow, lick up along his shaft, leaving a line of saliva in its wake, and lets his tongue dip in his foreskin and brings his lips together in a sweet kiss against the head. He suckles a bit against his urethra, and starts to descend.

He doesn’t choke, he  _ can’t _ choke, as the intrusion bleeds down his endocrine system. Gagging was trained out of him, snubbed out to prevent his brain from malfunctioning in moments he had hands clasped tightly around his neck and fingers down his throat. He swallows, and bobs back up to press another kiss to the underside. A part of him  _ wishes _ he could gag, able to experience a new sensation with Gon, and engage with breathless delight when he could finally swallow him down to the base after practice. But he didn’t, he couldn’t, and he doesn’t want to reflect on the unfairness of something he never had being ripped away before he could know it was something he could want.

So he descends again, squeezes his hands on the base, and swallows him down to the hilt swiftly and without difficulty. He’s swallowed swords, he can easily swallow a dick, he thinks with mirth.

“Uuarugh…  _ Kil-lu-aa,” _ Gon sighs, his name like a sweet prayer from slight lips, and Killua revels in delight at the softness and pure pleasure in his voice. He jerks him off once, twice, marvels at the cords of spittle still connecting his mouth to his dick, and once again leans in close to give sucking kisses along the side of his shaft. He licks roughly at the underside, presses his tongue to a particularly thick vein, and lets his eyes flutter shut. He sometimes thinks about why he finds himself so hungry for such an objectively ugly organ, why sometimes his thirst isn’t quite quenched until he’s descending on it in some form or fashion, but he chalks it up to the fact that it’s  _ Gon’s _ , and he loves all of  _ Gon. _ Even if it includes his weird, one-eyed snake.

Killua glares at him with daggers in his eyes when he feels a hand come down and part through his curls, scratching at his scalp. Gon doesn’t relent though, and continues to rub through his hair, and the gentle administrations and adoration in his eyes stops him from biting his dick in retaliation right there.

“I know Killua said I wasn’t allowed to touch him,” He begins shyly, like a kid caught with his hand in a candy jar, “But you looked so nice, I didn’t feel right not being able to praise you without my hands,” He explains, and Killua allows it. He leans his head against the hand in his hair, feels it slide down to his cheek, and slides his eyes shut as he presses a short kiss to the thick palm cupping his face.

His thumb swipes at the underside of the head, and he almost wants to drool at how thick strands of precome drool down the outer side of his hand. It’s stupid, he thinks, finding it as delectable as he does; but still he meets Gon’s lidded gaze as he licks it off, ascends heavenbound, and presses their lips together.

A tongue is quickly thrust into his mouth, and he feels his waist and hip being grabbed, groped, and man-handled as Gon presses forward and tilts Killua’s head back, adding force into the kiss. Killua has one hand on Gon’s chest, the other on his cock, and is roughly jerking him off as Gon keeps pressing forward. He presses a knee behind him to stop himself from falling back and giving Gon what he wants, to be on  _ top _ of him and forcing him into the mattress, but he won’t relent and submit easily tonight.

He can never get tired of kissing Gon, never grow bored of the feeling of heady lips pressed against his, truly, but he pulls back anyway, tugging his lower lip between his teeth, and watches with heavy eyes as it snaps back into place. Gon is persistent though, still subtly trying to push himself over Killua, despite the other having none of it.

“Killua,  _ Killua, _ please, let me f–”

“Nope,” He pops the last syllable, not even letting him finish, and instead forces Gon back down, “I’m still mad at you,” He says, as if it explains why he was so quick to swallow his cock down in the first place, “So you’re not getting what you want. You’re getting what I give you.”

Gon can only swallow, and h enjoys the sight of how his Adam's apple nervously bobs in turn, in succession, with his own heart.

Slowly, he continues to stroke Gon with shallow, lazy thrusts, and watches with rapt amusement at how his hips twitch and try to buck erratically, enjoys how his voice carries up in pitch in frustration, and listens to the slick, wet sounds of his hand jerking him off.

He knows that if Gon comes from this, it won’t be satisfying, he’ll still be riled up and whiney. A part of him wants to keep up his mean streak, be a brat and make Gon come with small and languid strokes. He  _ knows _ it’s his punishment after all, knows that Killua can be vengeful and conniving when he thinks it’s deserved. He wants to drive him up the wall.

But a softer, more affectionate  _ (blech!) _ side of him really,  _ really _ wants to just suck him off and kiss him afterwards to get the taste out of his mouth.

So instead, he opts for a bit of both, and chooses to tease Gon with his tongue instead. 

He kisses up the shaft, and mouths along the same thick vein, feeling as how the skin stretches easily in his lips. His hands squeeze his balls, dragging his finger up the underside of the seam, and rubs circles on them with a thumb as he starts to take Gon into his mouth again.

This time, he’s slower, not quite so desperate to swallow him down in one fluid motion. He’s patient, willing to let Gon’s endurance build up naturally than to suck it out in an instant. He curls his lips over his bottom teeth, and gives a small bob of his head. Gon’s hand is back, petting and cooing, giving soft words of encouragement, and it’s enough to have Killua willingly taking him in a bit deeper.

“Oh,  _ Killua,” _

A sigh, then,

“Haah, oh–  _ oh!” _

His hips buck up, and while Killua can take a rough, deep-throating mouthfuck with ease, he’s really not in the mood to encourage it. So he holds Gon’s hips down, and plants his mouth at the base of his cock, and drags the orgasm out of him. It milks his cheek and coats his tongue in a texture and flavor he’s never keen to swallow, and promptly reaches for a tissue to spit it out in and toss vaguely towards the trash.

Arms encircle his waist, and he feels himself wrapped up close and pressed tightly against a warm body and a broad,  _ broad _ chest. He settles in, cozy, lazy, tired. He’s exhausted, emotionally and physically, felt a slew of emotions he’d rather not repeat, and had his heart broken and mended in a matter of seconds.

Gon lazily presses kisses to his hair, praising him, calling him things like  _ beautiful _ and  _ talented, _ but he’s not really listening, his mind too far gone in exhaustion and contentment to really get worked up over kind words. He likes them, knows he might like it a little too much, but he’s not in the mood right now. Still, they’re nice, affirming, and he genuinely does appreciate the feeling of validation.

His head is tilted up, eyes heavy and lidded, practically closed, and lets himself be kissed placidly, lets Gon’s tongue lick the seam of his lips and slide into his mouth and tickle the roof of it, and slowly pull back. His eyes are shut now, and his face is pressed into the other’s chest, sleepy, content, and ready to forget this day happened.

Still, Gon’s there, and he’ll be there in the morning. He'll be there the next day, and the next week, for the coming months and maybe the forthcoming years. He hopes to see the day Gon sings a new tune on getting married, yearns for it, but he feels better now, knowing that despite his own blips in commitment, he wants to  _ be _ with him. And that’s enough to lull him to sleep to the sound of Gon whispering how much he loves him in his last few moments of consciousness, not any different to the whitenoise buzzing in his brain.

He sleeps dreamlessly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wasn't originally gonna have smut in this. but then i remembered it was gon's turn, so another 3k words just fell out of me instantly.

**Author's Note:**

> I think the idea of Killua wanting to settle down and live a calm, normal life is cute. It tugs at my heartstrings. After a lifetime of abuse, tortue, and war, who wouldn't be tired of it?
> 
> anyway just two bros breaking the rules of social distancing. with their dicks.


End file.
